It's a lonely road I walk. Fighting through the darkness of day upon day of endless suffering. Time speaks to me as a ticking bomb, waiting for the next mess up, so that it may blow up in my face, and send me back a hundred yards. Sometimes the path is cleared out, like someone pushed away the brambles before I stumbled along, making me smile as the sun hits my face in waves of refreshing light. Sometimes.. it looks as though someone has pushed boulders into my way, forcing me to climb over them, forcing me to push my way forward. But still.. I push.
Sometimes I wonder why I continue to push, why do I continue this endless journey of darkness and light? Why do I force myself through the brambles that leave scratches along my arms and face, scarring me and making me more mangled than before. Why is it, I do not sit down and weep? Admit defeat and throw up my arms, acknowledging the universe that it has won, and I cannot go any farther.
I remember that sunlight though.. the pure moments of sheer happiness, the moments that count, even after days of wandering in the dark. It has been years, I have stumbled through this brush. Following a path I can barely make out in the tangles of vines and thorns.
Sometimes I see the people who made a home in this wild barbaric countryside. They fleet along the path, sometimes walking beside me for a while, but always disappearing back into the mold of brambles and chaos. There is a light, that bobs with me now.. it pulses like a heartbeat, watching my every move, sometimes I wonder how it judges me, when I take the wrong step, I watch it bounce, wondering if that means it's laughing, or crying. I continue wondering if the pulsating light weeps beside me, or laughs at its own jokes, blissfully unaware of my struggles.
Faces pass, and sometimes the faces are breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful that even as I struggle along the path of darkness and chaos, I weep at its beauty, wondering how I too may be that strong and cunning, to be able to wander off the path, and work my own magic in a strange land where nothing makes sense. Wondering if I too, may help myself to become beautiful like they are, pure, and clean, even with the scars they carry themselves, their beauty makes me weep.
There are shadows that follow me.. watching my every step.. bobbing with me as I stumble, and trip, sometimes they disappear for a while, like the ones who walk along the path with me, or the pulsating light that keeps me moving forward, even when I want to sit down and stop. Sometimes they come back, and move closer to me, only to sink back into the shadows, following their own path maybe, or maybe just guiding mine. They continue forcing me to stick to the path that has been laid out before me, the brambles and boulders, the fleeting moments of conversation and happiness.
A friend walked along beside me for a while, and listened as I spoke, climbing over the boulders and brambles that continued to scratch at my hands and face; bruising my knees, and elbows, and arms, breaking limbs, only to heal when the ball of light touched them. I complained about the bobbing light, as it bobbed along beside me, when the friend spoke to the light though, it shied away, and went dark, threatening to be eaten by the chaotic world beyond the path. I grasped out for the light, because it was my only companion, but as I did, every other being around me, shrunk back into the shadows, watching from an even greater distance as I stumbled faster, chasing after the light that was threatening to escape me, threatening to leave me, darkening the path with its disappearance.
I stumble upon my road, for a destination I'm not sure of. Maybe one day I will reach the end.. I hope that light stays with me.. it is a comfort, even though I complain, it comforts me in times of great distress, when I've hurt myself beyond repair, it comforts me, and heals me with a touch of its glow. I think fondly of this light, smiling at its brilliance, another thing that makes me weep for happiness and joy, it makes me feel beautiful again, instead of dirty and scarred. I know there are others some more prominent, some more opaque, watching me from a distance. I wonder if they are waiting for me to fall, and be unable to get back up again.. or if they are rooting me on.
It's a lonely road I walk. Fighting through the darkness of day upon day of endless suffering. Time speaks to me as a ticking bomb, waiting for the next mess up, so that it may blow up in my face, and send me back a hundred yards.